An Hour of Wolves
by Levade
Summary: They say black horses are disappearing from other farmsteads. Only the black ones. And they say you can but stand and watch in a cold sweat of fear as something dark and horrible steals from us the steeds we count so dear. A very late Halloween tale 12/3/2014


**Disclaimer:** It all came from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien and is owned by his estate.

_**A/N:** This came out of the blue and would have worked well for a Halloween story if it wasn't for the fact I'm posting it on December 3__rd__. Ah well, I am done moving, unpacking and back to bludgeoning my brains (writing)! Still working on more of the old, unfinished stories, as promised. My thanks to EverleighBain who is not only a kindred spirit, but a lovely person and a fantastic writer. She also puts up with my long rambling e-mails. Go read her stories! _

_Thank you most of all to you, the reader. Your comments and favorites and follows always, __**always**__ make me grin and dance around. Mille Grazie!_

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><p>It came out of the grass. The tall, golden grass, high as a man's waist, rolling like waves of gold in the autumn sunlight. There were plenty of creatures that hid in that golden depth but they were familiar. Snakes, badgers, boars and deer that came out at night to eat, ears flickering nervously with any noise.<p>

But this was something else. Something that moved like no other creature. Something that you could smell long before you noticed the grass moving contrary to the wind.

And felt the dread. Bone-chilling dread that snuffed out joy and dimmed the brilliant sunlight as sure as a blizzard blows the world to white.

I would swear later it moved like a snake, sliding through the tall grass, leaving a trail of withered stalks behind to marks its path. I stood as though rooted. No oak ever was as still as I was, unable to do anything but stare, wide-eyed and trembling as the grass shuddered to show where it moved.

It headed for Siegwyn, my father's favorite mare. Her ears were pinned, head down as she turned to face what slid near her. I saw the whites of her eyes rolling in the darkness of her face and as my throat closed around the words I desperately wanted to scream, I had a fleeting moment of thankfulness that her foal had been weaned only five days earlier. The mare squealed a warning and half-reared, hooves striking out in a clear threat.

But she would not run. Could not, even as white lather appeared on her shoulders and her muscles trembled under her fine black coat.

Blood would run on the golden grass and I could but stand and watch, stuck dumb and still. I saw the red of Siegwyn's nostrils, flared wide as if she had run all the way from Meduseld, and wished I could close my eyes.

It stopped suddenly, the grass quivering for a moment, as if gathering itself to strike.

And then it turned. Away from Siegwyn, heading towards the woods and I had a fleeting moment of hope.

Siegwyn, becalmed and suddenly quiet, began to walk. Began to follow in the wake of whatever it was that slid through the grass, leaving withered stalks in its wake.

I could do nothing. Whatever bound me in place, bound me in silent despair and fear, chilled as if a sudden storm had rolled in from the north. I could not move, though I tried, nearly falling in the effort to make my feet move. To give chase after the mare, my father's beautiful black mare.

They disappeared into the depths of the forest, and then I knew.

I would not follow, for I have been forbidden to enter that wood, or even go near to gather sticks for a fire.

Siegwyn was lost and I?

I would have to bear the news to my father. He would call me a coward to have stood and only watched. To not even raise a rock to throw at the creature.

I have faced wolves and never once felt so afraid, so cold, as if hope had escaped from my body with my very breath.

They say black horses are disappearing from other farmsteads. Only the black ones. And they say you can but stand and watch in a cold sweat of fear as something dark and horrible steals from us the steeds we count so dear.

Other rumors ride to us on the wind, and there is talk of fighting but my father says he won't have it. There is a snake at Meduseld he says, and it holds Theoden King in sway. He will not fight for what he cannot trust, no matter what oath he has taken or what breaking it will mean.

I only know there is some part of me that has been frozen, and no fire and no summer heat can warm it. I stand watch still over the herds, but now I keep them far away from the tall golden grass, and we never go near the forest, not even for the shade.

I know what came out of there once, creeping through the grass, and I wonder.

What will it take next time?

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><p><em><strong>Note: <strong>The title was taken from Aragorn's speech at the Black Gates where he says, "Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of Men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!"_


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